Knives and Chocolate
by she-never-missed
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Clove is the only girl in District 2 who doesn't want to celebrate. But could a certain blue eyed boy and a bar of chocolate change her mind? For Valentine's Day. ONE-SHOT


I look up from my knives as I hear the door open. Cato's steps in with his hands behind his back and a smirk on his face. I raise my eyebrows.

"Guess what today is!" he calls to me, and I look down at my watch, grimacing as I see the date. February 14.

"Friday," I say simply, even though I know that's not what he wants me to say. He grins at my stubbornness.

"Which is?" he presses, and I grimace, knowing he's not letting me go without answering his question.

I whip a knife at my target and scowl at him. "Valentine's Day."

"And do you know what happens on Valentine's Day?"

"Deadly fifteen year old girls throw knives at people who interrupt their target practice?" I throw another knife for emphasis.

"True," he agrees, "Yet THIS particular deadly fifteen year old girl isn't going to kill me. Because she has a reason to like Valentine's Day."

Still fingering a knife, I turn and lean back on the weapons table. "And what is that?" I ask sarcastically, "That everyone falls in love and lives happily ever after with unicorns and rainbows and pots of gold?"

"Nope," he says, popping the P at the end, "But we got this." He pulls his hands out in front of him and shows me a small bar of chocolate.

I drop my knife as I rush forwards, practically ripping the chocolate from his hands. I hold it up to my face, inhaling the scent of cocoa and sugar. "How'd you get this?" I murmur, clutching the sweet against my face. District Two is one of the richest districts there is, but delicacies like this are still hard to come by.

"Stole it from a little kid," he says, and I look up.

"Seriously?" I'm trying to figure out if he's joking. Stealing from children is the kind of thing he'd do.

"Might as well have," he says, "Rich little brat, one of those with his daddy head peacekeeper in Seven and his mum somewhere else, he bet me this chocolate that his big brother could beat me in a fight."

I scoff. "Idiot." Everyone knows that Cato's the best sword-fighter in the district. Probably in the country. "And he paid up?" I ask. The people around here aren't exactly true to their word.

"Nah," he grins, breaking the chocolate in two, "He tried to make a run for it. Got exactly four steps." He holds up four fingers and I smile.

We sit down on a bench by the door and Cato hands me half of the bar. I hold it in front of my face for a second before taking a tiny little bite. My mouth is flooded with the sweet taste. My resolve crumbles and I pop the rest in my mouth.

Chuckling, Cato does the same.

"And what does this have to do with Valentine's Day?" I ask between bites.

"Everyone knows that people Valentine's Day is the number one day for chocolate eating in the entire year," he says matter-of-factly, and I shake my head.

"That is a horrible way of destroying the most wonderful thing in the world."

He sighs, "Did you even WONDER why you're the only one training today?"

"Because all the others are wimps who expect to win the Hunger Games by talking about their favourite colour and how they're going to fall in love and ride off into the sunset on magical ponies with fairy princesses flying around their heads."

"I am so sure they do not think fairy princesses will fly around their heads."

"Cassidy Knight," I say, "She told me in second grade."

We both laugh for a second before falling into an awkward silence.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Cato says, and I look up skeptically.

"Why ARE you here, Cato?" I ask. It comes out more accusing than I planned.

"To give you this chocolate," he sounds a little hurt, but it's almost entirely covered by amusement.

I turn and my eyes bore into his, but he doesn't flinch away like most people do. He just stares back, but this is to be expected. Everyone else is scared of me, I'm the best knife thrower in the district. But Cato has always found an interest in me, ever since I beat him in a fight in second year. Neither of us are used to losing. Only to each other. Maybe that's why we're best friends.

I start to stand up but Cato grabs my wrist, stopping me. My other hand automatically reaches for a knife but he's already beaten me there. My extra knife is gone from my belt in an instant and he's holding it up over my head.

"Jump for it little Clover," he taunts, using the nickname he knows I hate so much. He lowers the knife until its right in front of my face, then jerks it up again before I can react. He's smirking. Of course he is. He can only tease me like this when I don't have a knife in my hand. And that doesn't happen often.

Seeing my only option I set into motion before anything can stop me. I slam into Cato, knocking him to the ground. He must be a hundred pounds heavier than I am, but using techniques I've been taught since I was five, a foot behind his ankle and a solid kick around his knee, he's tumbling down onto the mats.

I drop down to the floor with my knees pinning his arms, trying to wrestle the knife from his grasp. But I guess my heart isn't in it today. He notices.

He flips me over onto my back easily, pressing my wrists into the floor. "That's not the Valentine's Day spirit," he remarked, and smiled slyly, "But I'll cut you a deal. I'll give you this knife back, and you have one chance to hit the bulls eye from the throwing blocks. If you get it, I'll leave you alone to train, but if you miss,"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Then you'll have to stop training and spend Valentine's Day with me."

My eyes narrowed. Cato knows better than anyone that I could hit the bulls eye in my sleep. "Alright I say, deal."

He lets me up and passes me my knife, watching me knowingly as his hand brushes mine. I fight back a shiver.

I ready myself at the starting blocks, feeling those clear, blue eyes on me. I throw.

The knife lands on the outer ring of the target. Half a foot from the center,

Cato lets out a low whistle from behind me, "Well. I guess I won, Fuhrman."

I turn to face him and his eyes are shining. And I know it's not just because he won the bet.

It's because he knows, and I know, that I never miss my target,

On purpose.


End file.
